


Bombs and Cigarettes

by Jensregals



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Based on suite française, F/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-19 18:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jensregals/pseuds/Jensregals
Summary: When world war two comes crashing down on the French town of Le Havre, Claire Beauchamp Randall and her fragile marriage crumble. Germans occupy her town and threaten her every move, but can one make all the pain go away?
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Original Character(s)
Comments: 77
Kudos: 140





	1. Calm Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Allied](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21409048) by [balfey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balfey/pseuds/balfey), [beekathony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekathony/pseuds/beekathony). 

Something about the water had always fascinated Claire. The way the waves made it ripple and dip in all the right places, the way it seemed to possess the ability to wipe away everything that troubles you. 

She stepped closer to the edge of the concrete ledge and focused her gaze on the reflection staring back at her. It flickered with the movement of the waves, a pale form she recognized all too well. Her brown curls formed a riotous halo around her head and her cheeks were pinkened by the chill in the air. 

“ Claire we all know you’re the prettiest one here, but the rest of us would like to get home.” Her friend Louise finished her sentence just as she came upon Claire, and her reflection joined her friends’ amongst the gentle waves. 

“ Oh shush Louise, I was looking at the water, not myself.” She said softly, her gentle english accent a sharp contrast to Louise's French accent. She studied her friends reflection for a moment, marking the tilt of her nose and the flick of her eyelashes against her cheeks as she blinked. She looked up just as snow flakes began to flutter around the two, painting the sky a gentle gray and sticking to their eyelashes. 

“Lets go,” she whispered and began to walk back to the group of girls waiting for them, drawing her coat around her tighter against the chill. Louise and some of her other friends from town would always walk home together, just to be safe. Claire owned her own greenhouse, and next to her Louise worked at the bakery. Her other friends worked in various places throughout town, the library, town hall, a coffee shop, etc. All of the shops closed at around the same time, so all of the girls would meet by the docks and walk home together.

Claire and Louise were the last ones as they lived right next to each other, and they would part ways at the point where their fences touched, Louise walking to the left and Claire to the right. 

Little did Claire know the bad omen in their habits, and it was likely she would never truly know. 

She pushed the door open and stepped inside slowly, the sudden burst of warmth enveloping her. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the coat rack next to the door, her shoes following close by and finding their place below the coats. She deposited her keys in the tray on the table and stepped further into the house. 

Clanking sounds emanated from the kitchen and she followed them and the smell of something burning to her husband Stephan. He was standing in the kitchen surrounded by smoke with oven mitts on both hands and whatever he had just tried to make was sitting in a pan on the counter, black as night. He turned to face her and his face morphed into an exact replica of the tragedy mask, his full dimpled pout on display. 

“ Claire mon amour, it appears as if I cannot bake.” He said with a huffing sigh, blowing his cheeks out like a pufferfish. 

“ That makes two of us.” She said as a grin overtook her features and a delicate hand connected with the collar of his shirt and tugged him towards her, the oven mitts for hands finding their places in the curves of her body. 

Their lips connected and she giggled, “ You taste like vanilla and anise--what exactly were you trying to bake?” She whispered against his lips. He smiled and moved an oven mitt to pat her bum as she stepped towards the oven. 

“ A birthday cake for you ma chérie,” He said pulling off the oven mitts and finding his place beside her where they stood staring at the burnt disaster. 

“ Maybe the middle is still okay?” she suggested and picked up the knife he had left behind on the counter to cut into it. She cut a small chunk out of the center and pulled it away to reveal a layer of white beneath the charred bits. She carefully cut off the top and the bottom and popped the salvaged square into her mouth, and she immediately wanted to spit it out.

Her face momentarily scrunched up like she had just walked through the tracks of a skunk, and then in what seemed like a massive struggle between her and her expressions, she forced a smile and nodded vigorously. 

“ Mmm… it tastes like--”

“ Claire you don’t have to eat it, I know it is horrible. Plus your face says everything you are thinking no matter how hard you try to hide it.” Stephan said with a chuckle. 

Claire immediately looked relieved and dropped the half chewed piece of cake into her palm, a nervous chuckle escaping her mouth.   
“ Thank god, I am sorry Stephan but that was absolutely horrific.” She smiled at him and moved to wash her hands in the sink. 

“ It’s okay mon amour, it is only a cake.” He stood and watched her at the sink for a moment his eyes trailing over her body. “ I can think of other things that can satisfy our hunger.” 

She turned to meet his gaze, his lust filled eyes boring into hers. As if drawn on a string she moved towards him, her own eyes twinkling with a hunger completely unrelated to food. This would be the time, she could feel it in her bones. 

This would be the time she would finally have an orgasm. If she could she would will it into existence. 

“ Can you?” She whispered as her hands found his collar again and swiftly moved to unbutton his shirt and tug the fabric from his pants. He pulled the shirt over his head and before she knew it her dress was in a puddle on the floor and she was in his arms halfway up the stairs to their room. 

When the door of their bedroom slammed shut Stephan laid her on the bed and within seconds he was inside her. She slowly traced her hands along his back and lifted her legs to rest on his hips, her heels pressing down to push him deeper. 

And she felt nothing. Sure there was pleasure and every once in a while he would hit a nice spot, but as quickly as the sensation came it faded and she was left with the smacking sounds of his unpaced thrusts, nothing more. 

She tried not to be limp for him, tried to make a few sounds to make him believe he was giving her pleasure, but she had the feeling that it didn’t really fool him. Just as sudden as he had entered her, he stiffened inside her and his warmth filled her body. He sighed and sagged against her, crushing her with his satisfied weight. 

“ Stephan you’re crushing me.” She whispered and he responded with a grunt and rolled off of her. She sighed and slipped out of the bed, her naked form traveling slowly to the bathroom connected to their room with. With a peek at her now snoring husband she closed the door and locked it. She moved to the bathtub and turned on the warm water, letting her thoughts wander as the tub began to fill.

They had been married for nearly two years now and he had yet to make her orgasm. She was beginning to think it was just her, that she simply wasn’t capable. Louise was always raving to her about how amazing it can feel with a man inside you, and no matter how much Claire craved it, it wouldn’t happen. 

As the steam filled the room she submerged herself in the water, letting the warmth bring her comfort in her loneliness. She slid completely under the water and closed her eyes, the sounds of the outside world muted. In the water it was just her and her thoughts, her memories. One of her earliest memories is her mother telling her that women are mostly water. Sea around them, sea inside them. For some reason that had always given her comfort, and it did so now. 

She returned to her husband and their bed hours later, her skin scrubbed clean and her hair smelling of vanilla and roses. She slipped beneath the blankets and turned her back on the man sleeping beside her. 

With a sigh Stephan moved closer to her and slipped a hand along her hips tugging her closer to him. 

“ Stephan I’m too hot.” She whispered and he made a noise and pulled her even closer to him. 

“ Stephan please.” 

“ First you can’t even fuck me and now you won’t let me touch you?” 

“ It’s not like that I--” 

“ I don’t want to hear it. Jesus! Every fucking time!” 

“ Stephan please don’t get angry I--” 

“ Just be quiet Claire, let me sleep.” He rolled over and widened the divide between them. 

Claire was still awake when dawn brought light through the cracks of their curtains and the unwelcome visitor to their door.


	2. Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occupation comes with a price

December 1939

She wandered through the house like a ship lost in the night, groping along walls for light switches and crashing into side tables. When she finally did find enough light to make her way through the house she came to the sudden realization that she was still completely naked. 

With a heavy sigh she retraced her trek through the silent house to find a nightgown and pull it over her head. With a less than admirable glance a Stephan she slipped from their room and found her way to the front door. 

The unwelcome guest had taken to pounding rather than knocking, a pounding so forceful that when Claire pulled open the door the man almost toppled over into the house, his fist falling to his side and his mouth widening to form a silent O. 

The two stood there like that staring at each other for what felt like centuries until Claire cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow. 

The man seemed shocked that he hadn’t yet said anything and stuttered his way around an apology, his lips seeming to move much faster than his brain could provide the words to say. 

“ I-I-I ap-p-p-ologize madam, I w-w-as not expecting a woman to answer the door at an hour such as this.” The man had a high nasally sounding voice that Claire suspected had not gotten him a wife, even though he appeared to be older than her. He was dressed in a long black coat and the only thing that could be seen other than the coat itself were the boots he wore. 

Military boots. 

“ You were expecting my husband weren’t you? You were going to show up in the middle of the night, tell him he’s been drafted and not to bother telling me, and then you both were going to disappear, him because he didn’t have a choice, and you because you didn’t care. Is that right?” The man made to answer her question and she put her hand up silencing him. 

“ It was rhetorical. Come in and I will wake him up.” She turned away from the man just as her stony expression began to waver and her hands started to tremble. They had known that it was bound to happen, they just had no idea that it was going to be so soon. Men had been getting drafted in the towns surrounding them for quite some time, and apparently Stephan was the first in Le Havre.  
Her next journey through her house was much slower this time around, her feet dragging with each step and her heart pounding. As much as Stephan had his faults, he had also been everything she had ever known. She had married him when she was eighteen, and she was twenty three now. She wasn’t entirely sure if she would even know who she was without him. 

When she entered their room he was sitting up, and when they met eye contact he nodded at her a sad smile filling his face. 

She made it halfway to him before she burst into tears, and when her vision cleared she was in his arms, her cheek pressed against his shoulder and her fingers wound into his hair. 

“ Tell me you will come back to me.” She whispered softly, staring once more into his eyes. He slowly shook his head and pulled her back closer to him, a sigh shaking his body. 

“ You know I can’t tell you that.” 

December 1940

Dear Stephan, 

I know that by this point that you are probably no longer getting these, you haven’t written back in months, but writing helps me calm down when I feel like the world is spinning out of control, and who else do I have to write to but you. Louise is gone, everyone I know is gone. Today marks a year since you were taken from me. A year since those bloody Germans tore the world apart. I hope things are well for you, hoping keeps the darkness out. Bombs have been dropped around Le Havre more and more recently, I guess that means that the Germans are almost here. I don’t know what I am going to do when Le Havre is occupied… perhaps never leave my house. That seems like a great option, except that I would need food. Ignore my ramblings Stephan, just know that I miss you and I hope that you are okay. 

Love,  
Claire 

It had snowed the night before, so when Claire stepped outside on a Wednesday morning and saw tire tracks flanked by thousands of footprints in the middle of the road she knew that the time had come. The Germans in question were nowhere to be found, at least nowhere near her house. She was apprehensive to begin her walk to town, but like she said in her letter, she had to go to town, or starve. 

She slowly became fascinated with the footprints they had left behind as the walk progressed, admiring the different sizes and the shoe patterns, some had ridges and some were straight hard lines. Her own footprints were tiny in comparison and she found eventually that she could walk completely in the footprints of one large footed soldier and not leave any tracks. 

By the time she reached town she had been jumping from footprint to footprint and hadn’t left a track for blocks, and she had been having fun for the first time in what seemed like forever. 

She knew she was distracting herself with a childish game to keep from thinking about the fact that her town was now occupied by german soldiers and nothing would ever be the same again, but she was going to play that game until she couldn’t anymore. Her mom always told her when she was younger to never bottle up her feelings because it wouldn’t do her any good, but bottling was the only option in a time like this. So she would collect the bottles and pray to god they didn’t break. 

Just like she would jump in footprints and pray to god she wouldn’t break. 

Her greenhouse was on the town square, as was the bakery that had closed when Louise left, so she had to go to the middle of town to get there. As she neared the square the first thing she heard was shouting, shouting in german. Then she heard screams, and as she stepped into the square a gun was fired into the mayor's head. 

She froze almost immediately, the screams of her fellow townspeople fading in the background of her schock. She was sure her face embodied her every thought, her shock, and then her confusion, her anger, her sadness, and finally her hatred. Her mouth tightened and her jaw clenched, her nostrils flaring as her breathing increased. 

“ You! Have you registered? All citizens of Le Havre must register themselves, their house, and hand over any and all weapons immediately.”

Before she knew it she was being dragged through the town to a line filled with the few remaining men who had been too old or unable to go to war and the women who had to take over in the men's place. 

She saw a few faces she recognized, some she didn’t, but they all looked too thin and incredibly tired. The line slowly shuffled forward person by person, and after hours of standing out in the cold a chill began to seep into her bones. The only sound that accompanied the crunching of boots and shouting of soldiers were teeth chattering from the chill. 

All around her stood soldiers in thick winter coats and boots and as she eyed them she began to hate them more and more. For all she knew Stephan was out there fighting in the freezing cold with nothing but rags to keep him warm and these selfish pricks were comfortable and well fed and taking everything her town and its people had to offer. 

Greedy selfish fucking bastards. That's what they were. 

“ Miss. Miss. Name please. Hey!” 

She met the gaze of a lanky soldier sitting behind the desk and shuffled to her place at the front of the line, the fire behind her whisky colored eyes doing nothing to warm her. 

“ Miss if you don’t tell me your name I’m just going to write something down and you won’t get any rations.” 

“ Well it’s not the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, if that helps.” She said with an angry little smirk and a raise of her eyebrow. She heard a small snort to the left of her and met the gaze of a massive soldier standing beside the other one. The soldier had to be at least six foot three and capable of crushing anything in his sight. 

“ Miss I am going to give you five seconds before I-” 

“ Claire. My name is Claire Beauchamp, happy?” She turned her attention once more to the lanky soldier and he snorted at her before scribbling her name on a piece of a paper and slamming some sort of stamp onto it. She proceeded to give him her address and occupation and after about five minutes of searching in some notebook he informed her that she was to house a soldier. 

She wished she could slam the stamp on him. 

“ What do you mean house a soldier? I barely have enough food to feed myself let alone a soldier.”

“ You have the second best house in Le Harve miss, you are housing a soldier whether you want to or not. Said soldier will come with rations for himself so you will not have to worry about supplying food..as for cooking it..” The soldier smirked and handed her a slip of paper giving her the details of her soldier. 

Before she could say another word he yelled next and she was shoved to the side, left with a crushed spirit and a crumpled slip of paper that ensured her a new life of misery. 

She knew she should have stayed in her house.


	3. Don't Watch Me Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie dance around each other, figuratively and literally.

Chapter 3: Don’t Watch Me Dancing 

Claire had exactly four potatoes, one pound of rice, one chicken, and various vegetables she had pulled from her own greenhouse to get her through the next two weeks. Without the vegetables, which were hidden and kept secret, she would have enough to last her maybe a week. Not two. Yet that was what they had given her and every other citizen of Le Havre. 

She couldn’t understand what idiot would decide to do this to a country, to the world, over some land and a hyper inflated ego, but then again hadn’t every other war started for those very same reasons. Kings had fought for less, but she couldn’t get past the countless deaths, the lives lost for nothing. Good men, like Stephan. He had been a good man, he wasn’t cruel, stupid, or brutish, he was simple, and he didn’t deserve to die. 

The soldiers who had taken over Le Havre did. They had marched in one day and took everything over the next, they were everywhere you looked, crawling all over the place like rats. They were constantly underfoot, always around the corner. Even the most discreet of people had to worry about being overheard, and those not so discreet had to have a mouth that could talk them out of a bad decision, or if you were a woman a mouth that didn’t have to do so much talking. 

Her town had gone from a safe haven to an inescapable prison, and she was the ultimate prisoner. She thought she would have been okay, if it weren’t for the soldier moving in with her. But he was, and she wasn’t okay. Not now, not ever. 

She had been told to prepare her house for him, to clear out an extra room for him to sleep in and prepare it to his specific demands (blankets above the pillows not below, preferably a window to look out of, a desk to do his work and write his letters, quick access to a bathroom) and to be waiting for him at whatever time he may choose to come. When the soldier decided to grace her with his presence she had been waiting so long that her fire had gone out and she had fallen asleep. She was sunk deep into the couch with her legs tucked underneath her, her shoulders curled into herself and her mouth opened in a small o. She was turned towards the door so when the soldier turned the knob after the third knock and stepped inside, he saw her immediately. 

Her pale skin seemed to glow in the light shining in from the snow outside, shimmering like the finest pearl and she looked so small the soldier almost wept. Instead he slowly crept forward doing his best not to make the floorboards creak or his boots thump, and gathered her into his arms. She fit against his chest like a puzzle piece, her head connecting with the crook of his shoulder and his hands fitting securely along her waist and at the bend of her long legs. She radiated warmth from the fire and she smelled like lavender and vanilla, her gentle breaths dispersing a minty twist into the mix. 

The soldier wandered the house until he found a bedroom that looked like it had recently been inhabited and he lowered her gently into the bed; drawing the covers around her and leaving almost as quickly as he had come. After a few more minutes of wandering he found a room that resembled what he had requested, blankets drawn over the pillows and a desk pushed up to a window, and sat down busying himself with untying his boots and preparing for bed. He felt bad for making the girl wait so long, and he had even told Murtagh to tell her not to wait, but he had apparently not relayed the message.

Claired dreamt of dancing, she dreamt of millions of dancers twirling in a snowy abyss. Their feet never touched the ground so they never left tracks, the only inclination that they were there was the frosty breaths released with each twirl. They seemed to be calling to her like sirens in the milky blackness of the night, their dance as dark and tumultuous as her soul. There were no stars to light their path and no moon to make the snow give off its ethereal glow. They danced because they had to, because if they stopped they would freeze to death. Their skin turned a different shade of blue with each step, frost creeping up their limbs and kissing their eyelashes. She felt like she was trespassing on some sacred ritual and she knew that she should not be there, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. 

When she woke the dancers had all died and tears filled her eyes. 

She had somehow made it to her bed and she was cocooned in a pocket of warmth between the comforter and the sheets beneath her, and despite the dream she felt more rested than she had in months. As she sat up and stretched her arms over her head rays of sunlight filtered in through the cracks in her curtain and illuminated her in a warm golden glow. She could see the specs of dust floating around her and the glow turned her riotous curls a shade of deep auburn. She felt peaceful, that was until the floorboards outside her room creaked and she turned to find a man looking through a crack in her door. 

The soldier. 

She was up within seconds and had pulled a robe on over her nightgown, her attention turned fully to the man that had pushed open the door now and was offering her a sheepish smile as if it could make up for his intrusion. The sunlight had hit him with full force, turning his red hair a more forceful red that seemed as if it could be another sun itself. It made his eyes shine a brilliant blue and each time he blinked his eyelashes casted shadows over his cheeks, deepening his features and limiting his imperfections. 

“ I am Captain James Fraser, I am the soldier that has been assigned to your house. I hope you do not mind my intrusion in your home, and I apologize for the intrusion a moment ago. When I arrived last night you had uhm-” he paused to clear his throat and smiled a bit before continuing, “ you had already fallen asleep and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay this morning.” 

You could tell the man was trying to hide the full force of his scottish brogue as if she would judge him for that rather than for the german uniform he was wearing, or maybe he feared she would judge him for a combination of both. 

He tried to hold her gaze, to get her to look at him at all, but she had hidden that porcelain face behind her curls and lashes and was very obviously trying to avoid looking at him more than she already had. She had crossed her arms over her chest and turned her body away from him, her delicate features drawn into an unreadable expression. 

“ Well uhm.. Miss… It was a pleasure to meet ye.” A bit more of his accent slipped out and he once again cleared his throat, his index finger tapping a rhythm against his thigh. “ Now if you don’t mind I must get to work.” With that he was gone, and slowly Claire moved to the window to watch him walk down the street. 

He was the soldier that had laughed at her comment in the square the other day, the big red haired man that looked like he could take down a small army with one hand. And he was nice. Of all things he could have been he was being nice and civil. Claire wasn’t sure what to think of this man that must have carried her up to her bed and tucked her in. This man that she caught peeking through a crack in her door to make sure she was okay. This man that seemed shy about an accent he couldn't be rid of. This man that seemed more like a human than a german soldier. 

But no. He was a soldier and that was it. She was sure there was something about him, some underlying factor that made him a monster like all the rest of them. How many people had he killed? How many bodies stained his soul? How many jews had he sent to suffer, how many good men like Stephan had he forced to leave their families, their homes? He was no better than the rest of them, and she was sure of it. 

She didn’t want to speak to the man, she didn’t want anything to do with him...with James. And she resolved that she wasn’t going to.   
Reluctantly she got dressed in a simple blue day dress that reached her calves and she looped a belt around her waist to cinch it in. She paired the look with a pair of black oxfords and attempted to tame her curls into a bun but strands still stuck out every which way. When she was suitable she made her way downstairs and busied herself with housework, she didn’t want to risk going into town and seeing him, even though she knew he would be back eventually. 

She swept and wiped down everything she could find, the cleaning soothing her hyperactive mind, and then she did the dishes and took supply of little food she had. She could have rice and some of the vegetables in her stash tonight, as she wanted to save the chicken for a colder night so she could make soup. 

With that decided she made her way into the pantry and examined the empty shelves remembering a time when they were lined with whatever she had wanted. Jam, loaves of bread, flour, sugar, chocolate. God she missed chocolate. She gathered a bushel of carrots and a few stalks of celery into her arms with a sigh and returned to the kitchen. She retrieved a cutting board from the cabinet and a knife from the drawer next to the sink and began to chop up her vegetables. When they were chopped she put them in a bowel and moved to the sink to rinse them, flipping on the switch to the radio like she always used to do when cooking as if it was second nature. 

At first all the radio picked up was static, and then in choppy bursts a song found its way through. 

God and his priests and his kings   
All were waiting  
All will wait   
As they go over   
Held between heaven and hell  
As their dancing   
As they dance over and over 

With gentle hums she began to pick up the tune and swayed about the kitchen, her vegetables finding their way into a pan and the rice boiling in a pot. She wasn’t happy, this wasn’t happy dancing, it was dancing much like those in her dream. It was dancing because she had to or she feared she would fall apart. It was dancing because she couldn’t allow herself to fall apart. So she danced. She danced to the music, to the sizzle of her pan, to the footsteps on the hardwood floor, to the man standing in the doorway. To the clatter of the pan as it landed on the hardwood floor. 

“ Och lass I’m so sorry, I dinna mean to startle ye. Here let me help..”

Jamie stooped down low and began to help her scoop the ruined vegetables back into the pan, watching as her face transformed from sadness to anger and then back to sadness, and then finally to anger once more. 

“ Don’t.” She whispered softly, risking one look into his eyes to prove a point. When he didn’t stop her eyes flashed and with a loud “ Stop it!” the pan dropped onto his thigh and burnt a hole through his pants. 

She was gone before he could react to the pain and the pain stopped him from reacting to her.


	4. All the Things You Have Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when things seem too bleak to go on, the light shines through the curtains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting you know that I have changed the timeline a bit, it is now only 1940, which I understand is historically inconsistent with when France is occupied, but this is a fanfiction and it is not meant to be completely historically accurate. *coughs at hate comments* 
> 
> As always thank you so much for reading and please leave comments and feedback! I am consistently working on getting chapters out quicker and making them longer but this is my first fanfiction so I am learning as I go :) 
> 
> Love you all!  
-A

As the weeks progressed they found a pattern to life. Jamie would wake at four am and shuffle about in his bedroom preparing for the day, while simultaneously letting Claire know that he was awake. He would get dressed and comb his hair before going downstairs and making himself breakfast, which was usually a piece of toast and an apple or some sort of fruit, if they had it. If they didn’t he would add it to his mental list and come home hours later with a bag of the things they needed without ever saying a word about it Claire. 

Claire would lie in bed and stare at the ceiling from the moment she heard his movements in the room next to hers until she heard the front door shut, and then longer in case he needed to return for something. She found that it was best to completely avoid him so she would come out when he was gone and retreat to her room when he returned. She hadn't been outside in months for fear that she would see him or something unimaginable would happen. Her fear seemed to have taken over, which was something that rarely happened-- she supposed the extenuating circumstances had finally broken her. 

They lived in silence, sounds of the piano sometimes being the only thing to accompany the ticking clock, and it was always Jamie who played. He would sit down and piece together newfound compositions that always held some sort of dark undertone and the house would groan with sadness. Sadness for the music, and sadness for the lives they lived. 

In the moments Claire did spend out of her room she wandered from room to room staring at things. If you were to watch from afar it would look like she was reliving memories from another time, her fingers brushing a vase here or a discarded book there. In certain areas she would stop and smile and then she would blink and her face would crumple, the warmth she presented with the smile fading into saddened anger. 

She had decided in the first couple of weeks that she would preserve most of the food for him so that he wouldn’t get angry about it later, so she hardly ever ate, and when she did it wasn’t enough. She was so thin none of her clothes fit anymore and she had to continuously tug the sleeves of her dresses back up her arms. She had tried to tighten a few but she had never had any family that could teach her how to mend things, and she had never needed to with Stephan, he would just buy her a new dress. 

On some days when the sun was shining she would open the curtains and let the light filter in, then she would sit on the couch, close her eyes, and dream of better days. It was during one of those moments on a spring afternoon that Jamie walked in the door and stopped right in his tracks, his eyes immediately landing on her. She had fallen asleep much like she had on the first night he saw her, her body turned towards the door, or in this case the sun, and her skin glowing with some sort of ethereal sheen. 

Her skin was paler than it had been before and she was even smaller than before if that was possible. He feared that she would break beneath the slightest touch, yet that was all he wanted to do. He knew that he had done this to her, he had scared her into fragility and he despised himself for it. He couldn’t understand why she was so scared of him, so unwilling to embrace the fact that he wasn’t going to hurt her. 

Without thinking he stepped closer and his frame blocked the sun from hitting her and she woke slowly, the loss of warmth drawing her from her oblivion. It took her a long sleepy moment to open her eyes and it took her even longer to process that he was standing in front of her. When she did she sat up and drew her arms around her body as if she was shielding herself from him. 

“ I apologize for wakin ye Mrs. Randall, I just knew that you probably wouldn’t be too comfortable if you slept the day away on the couch.” 

Those were the first words spoken between the two since she had dropped the pan on his leg, and the silence that followed was deafening. He stared at her until he felt it was too awkward to continue and she stared at her lap until she felt his gaze leave her. When she did look at him she felt her breath leave her body. He was standing in a halo of sunlight, and his hair had grown since she last saw him. It formed a riotous crown of fiery reds and golds, the curls looking much like her own. She supposed he was even bigger than when she had last seen him, or perhaps she was just smaller. She continued to stare until she felt his gaze once more and when they met eyes it was as if she fell into the ocean. 

They kept each other's gaze as she stood and at full height she reached the tip of his ear, which was a feat all on its own. At that moment he realized just how tall and thin she was, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Her entire world spun and the last thing she saw was the soldiers concerned face above her. 

When she woke she was back on the couch with a blanket tucked around her and the soldier sitting on a stool beside her, a tray with some form of soup on it sitting on his lap. He was crushing some crackers into it when he must have heard her stirring and his head shot up. She tried to sit up and he quickly sat the tray down on the coffee table next to him and crouched down on his knees next to her. 

“ Don’t try to stand up again lass, ye collapsed like a sack of grain the first time.” He smiled at her softly hoping that he would get some sort of friendly acknowledgement from her, but all he got was a gentle nod and a shifty glance to the soup on the coffee table. 

“ Are ye hungry? I made chicken noodle soup. It was my mams recipe and everytime she made it us kids swore an angel had cried into the pot.” He grinned remembering and Claire smiled thinking that he looked much like an angel next to her. 

He grabbed the bowl and the spoon next to it and handed them to her and his gaze remained on her until she took the first bite. She closed her eyes as she chewed and a look of pure bliss came over her face. Quickly more bites followed the first and Jamie laughed as she shoveled spoonful after spoonful into her mouth. 

“ Christ lass ye were hungry, do you not eat at all?” He sat back down on the stool and focused his attention on her, taking into account her sunken in cheeks and protruding bones. She couldn’t have weighed more than eight stone, if that. She looked up at him and a sort of shame seemed to weigh heavy in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything, just kept taking bites. They were slower now, more controlled, but you could tell that she hadn’t eaten a full prepared meal in a long time. 

He watched her eat for a few more moments before standing and making his way to the kitchen to grab another bowl and towel. When he returned she had eaten the rest and was taking a drink of the water he had left her. She returned the cup to the coffee table and he handed her the new bowl of soup. 

“ I really am okay now.” She said it quietly, almost too quiet to be heard. She held the bowl like it was foreign to her, but when Jamie didn’t say anything she slowly took another bite. So he wouldn’t be awkwardly staring at her; he stood and began to close all the curtains. Once they were closed he started a fire in the fireplace. The sun was beginning to set and she hadn’t returned to her room, which was unheard of. 

When the fire was burning well he returned to his stool and met her gaze with a small smile, the fire casting a golden glow across their features. She looked like a goddess to him basked in the firelight, her cheeks warm and rosy from the soup, her lips pinkened and moist, her eyes.. God her eyes. Each time she looked at him he wanted to drown in them and never return. 

When she finished the second bowl she set it on the tray and met his gaze slowly. They stared at each other for what felt like years until with deliberate ease Jamie lifted the towel and wiped a bit of soup off of her chin. When he moved to return to his previous position she stopped him by grabbing his wrist, her delicate fingers surprisingly tight. 

“ Thank you Jamie.” She whispered softly, her gaze flicking from his eyes to her lap as if she was scared. 

In that moment he did drown in her gaze, and he drowned in her touch. Her voice seemed to occupy his soul and attach itself to him, his name leaving her lips sounded like the most divine prayer. He would never forget the way he said it, soft yet forceful, her englishness giving it an unbearable cuteness. He would never forget the way her lips curled with the words or the way her touch set his skin afire. 

“ You need not be scared of me, or anyone else here, so long as I am with ye.” He whispered, matching her quiet urgentness. Without second thought he grabbed the towel with his other hand and flipped the one she was holding so he held her tiny hand in his. Gently he raised it to his lips and kissed her fingers. 

“ And when you’re not with me?” She whispered. 

He found himself unable to say anything back, at least not things he could say yet. He wanted to promise her that he would always be with her, that he would protect her with his life if he had to, but he couldn’t say that, so he said nothing just stared into her eyes. He hoped that his eyes would say all the things he couldn’t with his words. 

He gently ran his thumb over the back of her hand before lowering it into her lap and standing. He gathered the tray and the bowls and made his way to the kitchen cleaning them and returning all of the things he had used to their rightful places. He was putting the soup away when she came into the kitchen and he turned to look at her when she came into his line of sight. 

“ I wanted to apologize before, for the pan-I- I don’t know why I didn’t try to help… are you alright? It didn’t hurt too much did it? If you want I can look at it, I sort of have a knack for healing and herbs and maybe I can…”

“ Lass, I’m fine.” He chuckled softly and made his way over to her where she was leaning against the door frame. “ It’s just a wee scar…” He paused and took her hand in his, guiding her to the spot just above his knee where the scar was, “ Right about here.” He finished with a small smile.  
When her fingers brushed his leg they both seemed to flinch as if they had shocked each other and she quickly withdrew her hand nodding her head as if she had just confirmed something medically, when in reality there was no reason for her to touch his scar through his pants, well at least no medical reason. 

“ I’m glad you’re okay.” She said smiling too. She knew somewhere deep in her mind that she should not be smiling at him, that she shouldn’t have even been talking to him, but she couldn’t resist. She felt drawn to him for a reason she couldn’t understand, she felt protected. 

“Mmm.” Jamie mumbled his noise of agreement but didn’t say much more, just stared into her eyes until he realized that he had been doing something before she came in and cleared his throat. “ You should get some sleep lass.” He said as he turned to continue putting the soup away. “ I’m not going out tomorrow, so when you wake I’ll have breakfast made.” He said almost as an afterthought, thinking that maybe he should warn her, maybe the soup made her delirious and when she woke tomorrow she would be back to avoiding him, maybe this was all some fever dream. 

Whatever it was he wasn’t going to let her continue to starve, and that was a promise. 

Dear Stephan, 

Today is April 2nd, 1940, and we have received news that Hitler is planning to invade Denmark and Norway. Honestly I this point I can’t imagine the world before this all happened even though I find myself trying nearly every day. I find myself in better spirits now that spring is here, I think winter always makes me think too much. It’s beginning to get much warmer outside during the days and the flowers I planted are starting to bloom. At night it can still get a little cold, but I don’t mind that much. Do you remember how I told you about the soldier living with me? I am still wary of him, as I should be, but last night he helped me. I’ve been too afraid to eat so that he could have enough food, and I know before you say anything I am always too selfless, but I had my reasons. Yesterday afternoon he came home early and woke me up and when I tried to stand to move away from him I passed out… when I woke up… well I don’t need to tell the whole story, but he helped me, truly. Perhaps I shouldn’t avoid him anymore? And maybe if I ask him about you he can figure something out. I miss you Stephan. 

Claire. 

When Claire woke the next morning a smell filled the house that made her mouth water and her stomach rumble. She was so blinded by figuring out what had caused the smell she wandered downstairs in only her robe and her hair was still down in a mass of curls. It was a state of comfort that Jamie had never seen her in before so when she walked into the kitchen and the sun turned those curls into a halo Jamie almost damn near had a heart attack. 

He turned to her spatula still in hand and grinned, “ Did the bear come out of hibernation?” He said with an amused glint in his eye. 

Claire smiled sheepishly and moved to run a hand through her curls, which she knew had to be a mess but was stopped in her tracks. 

“ Don’t. I like it.” Jamie whispered looking very much like he wanted to cross the room and touch her curls himself, and then he cleared his throat and turned back to the stove. “ I went out early this morning and found some bacon and eggs.” He moved to get two plates out of the cabinet and glanced at her over his shoulder. 

She was standing there as if stunned, watching his every move like he would disappear if she didn’t. She was leaning on the door frame as she had been the night before and the morning sun was making her pale skin glimmer, her long pink robe seeming to shimmer along with it. You could tell she had just woken up because her eyes were a little droopy and the color was light, like the morning sky. 

“ You look like you’ve seen a ghost lass.” He said with a chuckle. He scooped the eggs and bacon onto their two plates and set them down on the table in the corner. He then poured them both a glass of water and sat down at the table. 

“ Care to join me?” 

Silently she moved to the table, still not having responded to his previous remark. She sat down and picked up the fork he had sat next to her plate, glancing up at him happily chewing with a cute little smile on his face before taking a bite of her own. 

“ I told you, you dinna have to be scared of me lass.” He said in between bites, his eyes searching for her own. 

She looked up and met his gaze, the memory of his exact words floating back to her. She found herself glancing to the lips that had kissed her hand and then she hastily looked down at her plate. They ate in silence. It wasn’t the silence that seemed to follow them before, it was a new type of silence, one that promised brighter things. One that was born from thinking, not from ignorance and hatred. 

When they both had finished their food Jamie cleaned up his mess once again and made to leave the kitchen, but stopped in the doorway. 

“ Would you like to get dressed and go on a walk with me? No one will bother you so long as I’m with you.” 

There it was again. He kept telling her that he could protect her, but what if the other people in town saw them, would they think she was whoring around just because he was young and cute and her husband was gone? She wanted to, she really did, but could she? 

With a moment of thought she stood and nodded and a smile filled his face. 

They met again at the foot of the stairs, her in a simple white dress that went to the middle of her calves with a belt wrapped around her waist, and him in his uniform. She had tamed her hair a bit despite his subtle remark and pinned it back in a cute half up style, but most of the curls still ran free. She made her way to the door and slid her shoes on, a simple pair of brown oxfords, and paused for him to grab his hat. 

The hat made him look so much more like a German soldier. The hat reminded of her of the monsters that lurked around town, of the fact that he was one of them. She could feel her face giving away her thoughts just as she could tell he could read her like paper. He opened the door and she stepped outside into the morning sun, Jamie following close behind. 

“ I’m sorry Jamie, I’m trying to tell myself you aren’t like them but I can’t… When I see you in that uniform, when I see you at all, my brain always tells me that you are one of them, and when I think of that I think of all the things you are bound to have done, and all of the things you have yet to do… and..” 

“ Claire stop.” 

They had turned to face each other now, and as blue eyes met blue Claire saw the first signs that someone different lurked within him, the first signs of his monster. 

“ You are not in a position to know the things I have done Mrs. Randall.” He said with enough venom lacing his words to stun a small animal. With that he took off at a steady pace, his boots crunching an angry beat in the gravel beneath him.  
She stood there stunned for a moment, baffled at how he could change so quickly, how he could become the german she feared in the blink of an eye. She figured it was something that he had practiced, but what if it wasn’t? What if it wasn’t just some sort of coping mechanism and it was really him? What if the man he had been showing her was the fake?

When she realized that he had traveled a great distance ahead of her she jogged to catch up to him and followed a few footsteps behind. As they got closer and closer to town she realized that she hadn’t left her house since the Germans had arrived, and things had gotten so much… better. The german soldiers had started shopping from all of the local shops and they had brought with them an influx of food and resources. As they reached town square Jamie stopped in front of where they had set up headquarters and turned to her. 

“ Wait here.” Was all he said before he disappeared inside and left Claire to her own defenses. She turned in a circle slowly and looked around the square, seeing mostly german soldiers gathered around the well, and with them the girls in the town. She supposed with the absence of their husbands and essentially all men they were taking what they could get. Maybe she wouldn’t get judged too harshly after all. All she was doing was walking with her soldier.

“ Claire!” She turned around to find the source of the voice and was met in full force with the body of one of the girls she used to walk home with. 

“ Charlotte! It is so good to see you, I feel like it has been forever.” She said hugging the girl as tight as she was hugging Claire. 

“ Oh mon cherie we thought you had left or been taken! Where have you been? Tell me have you been cooped up all this time?” Before Claire could get a word in Charlotte’s attention was pulled by a soldier doing something at the well before she focused on her friend again.

“Ooh, do you have one? A soldier? I don’t, I guess that’s the only perk of having the worst house in town.” She finally stopped and gave Claire time to answer at least one of her questions, which she did with a laugh. 

“ I do, which must be the only downside of having the best house in town.” She said and the girls burst into a fit of giggles until Charlotte’s immediately stopped.  
“ Colonel Fraser.” She said quietly. Claire turned to look at Jamie who was standing almost immediately behind her, close enough to smell the cologne he had put on. She didn’t say anything just looked into his eyes and then down at the package of letters he was holding. 

“ What's that?”  
“ My job.” 

She nodded and glanced at Charlotte who was watching the interaction with enthusiasm, if not a little confusion. She looked back at Jamie and he suddenly looked angry, his empty fist clenching at his side. Without saying another word he turned and walked back in the way they had come, heading in the direction of their house. 

“ Is that…” Charlotte began to say but Claire cut her off. 

“ Yes, how is Benoit?” She said, hoping to change the subject. She had no idea was all of a sudden acting the way he was, but she wasn’t entirely sure if she could say she was surprised. 

She chatted with Charlotte for hours and the two of them went to Charlotte's house, which was a bard nestled deep in the forest of the mayor's property. Charlotte was his tenant and he treated her and her family like cattle and made them pay for it. She stayed there until about mid afternoon and then walked home. When she got home the sun was beginning to set and Jamie was standing outside. She looked at him for a long moment until she got to the gate. When she opened the gate she looked at her feet until she ended up in her room.

If he was going to be rude to her, she would be rude to him. 

She knew he was exactly like all the others, why wouldn’t he be?


	5. An Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an update

Hey guys, I don't know if anyone has this in mind anymore, but I am planning on coming back to writing and continuing this story. If anyone is interested please comment and let me know!! 

xxx- A


	6. Hand by Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I got excited about writing this again, so uh, surprise shawwty! 
> 
> WARNING: This one is a major heart wrencher. I sobbed while writing the majority of it, so also keep in mind typos are inevitable. Hopefully the message will outshine any other mistakes. 
> 
> As always comment your thoughts, I love reading all of them! 
> 
> xxx-A

June 13th, 1940  
Mid-day. 

Dear Stephan, 

As summer grows the heat seems to become more and more unbearable, as I am sure you know full well. It is so hot here I don’t want to move, and at times it feels like I am absolutely melting. I don’t think I have ever experienced such an incessant heat, it makes me miss winter. What little flowers I planted have wilted, even though I water them more than I do anything else. 

Claire lifted her pen from the paper and turned to look out into the hall. Sounds of the piano filled the house, a piece she had never heard before. She listened for a moment before shaking her head and turning her attention back to her letter. 

Fraser is unbearable, that's the soldier, he is always making some kind of ruckus, and he hasn’t spoken more than words of passing to me in months. Not that I want him to, I don’t want to talk to him either, so I guess it works. Christ he is always playing that bloody piano. I can’t stand it Stephan, I can’t stand him. 

Claire slammed her pen down on the desk and stood up, her chair scraping against the wood. She stomped over to the door and slammed it. The piano stopped abruptly. Satisfied, she sat back down at the desk and finished her letter. 

That was how it had been since that day in town, she had woken the next morning to a deep empty silence, the smell of bacon long gone. She had found her way downstairs as dischievled as she had been that morning, her hair riotous and her nightgown loose on her frame. He had kept his promise, he hadn’t let her starve, but he hadn’t made a meal for them again either. She found a muffin sitting on the counter in the kitchen, a note beside that simply read, “out.” She had left the muffin sitting there. She wasn’t sure why she had done it, she was hungry, but something in her wanted to spite him perhaps--or better yet something inside her wanted to see if he cared. 

When he got home she had heard him grumbling downstairs, and then the sound of the back door opening and slamming. The next morning the muffin was sitting at the edge of the yard, chunks missing from it as if it had been thrown several times. He kept leaving new things, a pot of porridge on the stove, apples and bananas, various toast and jelly variations. After the first time she would eat them, too concerned about food going to waste than she was proving a point. They had begun to dance around each other more, except this time the dance was more aggressive, a jig rather than a waltz. He was loud in the mornings, stomping his boots on the wooden floors and slamming doors, and then playing the piano constantly while he was home. The same song was on a constant loop, some parts changing and then returning, but it was always the same beginning, always the same chords. 

He was angry with her, she could tell that much, but she didn’t know what for. She hadn’t done anything, she had even thought that things were getting better on that day, but almost as sudden as a flash of lightning everything had changed. 

Now she sat, her letter finished, and she folded the paper she had been writing on. She folded slowly, deliberately matching the lines up to perfection and placing the paper inside an envelope. She removed the lid from a small jar beside her and dipped her finger into the water within, then traced the edge of the envelope with her finger and pressed the edges together to seal it. She flipped it over and scrawled Stephans name on the front and the address he had last given her, all those months ago. A delicate hand then peeled a stamp off of the stack sitting beside the bottle and smoothed it onto the corner. So far she had written one hundred and thirty two letters to Stepan. None had been answered. 

Her door opened with a small creak and she glanced warily down the hall towards Frasers room before stepping out into the hallway. She held the letter tight in her grasp, mentally drawing a tally in her mind on how many this had been, and how many more there would be. One hundred and thirty two unanswered letters, and she had doubts that this would be one more. She was staring at his name on the top, written in her sloppy cursive, when she collided with Fraser at the bottom of the stairs. 

He threw his hands up to keep her from falling backwards, his strong grip firm on her shoulders, his thumbs pressing hard enough into her flesh to leave marks. 

“I’m sorry--”  
“Are you oka--”

They both stopped, a soft involuntary blush warming Claire's cheeks. She had dropped the letter on impact and she quickly leaned down to grab it, partly because she needed to take it to the mailbox, but mostly because she wanted to avoid his omnipresent gaze. 

“ I’m fine, thank you.” She mumbled the words softly, her thumb tracing over Stephans name on the letter. When she looked up at him his eyes were focused on the letter, and the movement of her thumb. A shadow passed over his face and when he looked at her he had a question hidden behind his eyes. She couldn’t read him, couldn’t recognize his wordless question, but his gaze forced a chill through her body and sparked a desire somewhere in the back of her mind. They stared at each other for a long moment, the silence swirling around them like dust in the sunlight. 

“ Excuse me,” she eventually mumbled and brushed past him, their arms touching as she went. She had made it halfway through the living room before he turned around, his next words filling the space between them. 

“ How many has it been, letters?” His eyes traveled to the envelope clutched in her grasp once more, deep thoughts swimming in those blue pools. She could tell he knew something, that he had asked about Stephan, and he hadn’t liked the answer he was given. 

She froze, her face falling into a heart wrenching expression, her hands falling to her thighs, the letter hanging limply between her fingers. “ One hundred and thirty two.” She whispered the words as if they would break, as if speaking them louder would bring what they were both thinking, what one of them knew, to the surface. 

Jamie's fist clenched by his thigh and his eyes softened, a soft purse of his lip and furrow of his brow telling her everything she needed to know, everything she had really already known. 

The letter dropped to the floor. 

“ No.”

Tears sprung to Jamies eyes, his face contorting with empathy for the woman standing in front of him, the woman who soon too, fell to the floor. She sat on her knees, her wracking sobs filling the deafening silence that had surrounded them for months. 

“ No!” 

She was screaming now, her sobs accompanied by the violent shaking of her body and her gasps for air, there was never enough air. Jamie quickly joined her on the floor, his strong arms enveloping her like she was tiny. He tugged her towards his chest and she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him like he was a life line. Her tears and snot quickly wetted his shirt, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She had lost the only man she had ever known, ever loved. He had been her home, even if it had been flawed, he was all she had. 

It took a long moment for her to compose herself, for the sobs to become snivels and the tears to dry. When she had calmed and lifted her head from Jamie's shoulder, they met, face to face, and Jamie lifted a large hand to wipe a tear from her reddened cheeks. 

“ How long--” she paused a new round of tears filling her eyes, “ how long have you known about him?” She whispered. She wanted to ask how long he had let her write letters to her dead husband, letters to never be answered, letters that contained her heart and her soul. If the answer was what she thought it was going to be, she knew she should hate him. She should hate him more than had ever hated another human being, more than she hated Germany and the war that had tore her husband from her, from his life, and the possibility of a family. She knew she should never speak to him again, never trust him to be within an inch of her--but something in her couldn't bring herself to do that. 

Jamie was quiet for a long moment, his eyes reflecting a deep unmistakable sadness, and the notion that he had failed her. He thought back to that day, the morning they had shared breakfast together and she had sat across from him, glowing in the morning sunlight. Her smiles had been hard to coax out of her, but once she had smiled, once he had seen her, hair flowing around her like static in an electric storm, lips and cheeks pink, a piece of bacon on the corner of lip, it was as if the sun had come up on a cloudy day. It had only been the eye of a hurricane though, as he soon found out. 

And since then there had only been torrential winds between them. 

“ You know how long.” He finally said, his voice deep and mournful. He wasn’t sad because of Stephan, he felt sorry for the man, but he had never known him. He had though, come to know the light that was his wife, sorcha, and he knew after this she would never speak to him again. He would live forever in a hurricane, his light put out. He had tried to keep her from knowing, tried to push her away so she couldn’t see how much it pained him not to tell her, how everyday he struggled on a moral highwire, wobbling between doing what is best for her, and preserving what little happiness he had felt in a long time. 

In the process though, he had caused them both to suffer, and now the boat was sinking, and this ship had no life boats. 

She sat up slowly, her arms sliding from around his neck and falling to her sides like anchors, dead weight cast out to sea. She stared at him for a moment, for once her face was unreadable to his watchful eye. Her blue gaze was still swimming with sadness, her delicate features contorted in grief. She sat ramrod still, a chill falling over them both, the silence once more settling around them like an old friend. 

“ Do ye hate me for it Claire?” Jamie's voice cracked as he spoke, the idea of having his sorcha hate him was even more inconceivable than death, more terrifying than a thousand wars fought bloody and bruised. 

She studied his face, catching the glimmer of pain in his eyes she felt reflecting in her soul. Just come home. That was the last thing she had written, her last plea for the life she once knew. He would probably never come now, not even his body. He was lost to the war, a casualty buried in a muddy trench, only God knows where. With a final sniffle and a harsh clearing of her throat she stood, her arms hanging limp by her sides. She looked down at him, still hunched on the floor, his ruddy red hair curling around his cheekbones and his body defeated. 

“ I should hate you, but I don’t.” 

She drifted away from him slowly, a ship soon lost to the night. The stairs creaked as she made her way up them, a final glance towards the letter on the floor and the man sitting beside it only came once she reached the top. She didn’t hate him, but she wasn’t happy with him either, even if his touch had made her grieving heart flutter and gooseflesh rise on her skin. 

His touch was dangerous, forbidden, toxic. He was a German soldier first and foremost, a man somewhere after that. And it would do her good to remember that.


End file.
